


Wedding in Morningtown

by raven_aorla



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Body Horror, Coulson is from Night Vale, Discussion of What Cecil Is, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Tentacle Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos' older sister is getting married and Carlos invites Cecil to attend the festivities with him. Leaving Night Vale for the outside world can be tricky, and getting to know Carlos' family - and some of Carlos' former colleagues making a surprise visit - even trickier. But hey, as the song says, love is all you need to destroy your enemies.</p><p>[It is more important to be familiar with WTNV than AOS for understanding. Though you could always give it a try anyway. Understanding things is overrated and largely delusory.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters. In a cosmic sense, I don't own anything at all. Perhaps no one owns anything. Or perhaps some force beyond our puny mortal reckoning owns us all.
> 
> Also, Welcome to Night Vale fanfic disclaimers are the most enjoyable ones to write. :3
> 
> ETA: Only the last two chapters were written after the third anniversary of WTNV, and only the last chapter was written after episode 100.

 

"My sister's getting married in a month and she says I can bring a date if I want," Carlos said.

 

Cecil didn't register the words at first, because Carlos was lying on the couch in what was not just Cecil's apartment but theirs, a potentially synapse-overloading event of delight. His head lay in Cecil's lap and he was letting Cecil run his fingers through that perfect and glorious hair. But the word "date" still perked him right up. "So...you want me to go with you?"

 

"Course I do. I was thinking, if you can, we might go a week early so I could help with some of the preparations and show you around _my_ hometown for a change." His miraculous boyfriend said that sentence like it was as obvious as the importance of keeping a flamethrower in one's closet in case of unexpected Easter. Cecil glowed. He glowed a burnt umber shade this time, faintly luminous but constant, bathing them in soft light.

 

The first few times Carlos saw any of Cecil's less conventionally humanoid features he kept taking notes and measurements and asked all sorts of questions. This made complete sense and it was fun to have another neat thing to talk about. Now, though, Carlos was content to let one of the more slender of the right-side tentacles wind around his forearm, even running the nimble hazelnut-colored fingers of his other hand up and down the smooth tip. A light sensation like that was soothing. It turned out actually twisting the tip was...more than soothing. More on the exciting side. Though they learned not to try it if either of them had somewhere to be within the next two hours.

 

"I'd love to," Cecil said, fetching a zesty glass of Becilade Nanotea (now with more tiny steel flecks to add sparkle!) from the coffee table with his longest left tentacle and bringing it to his lips. After the tingling sensation in his esophagus died down a bit he gently placed it next to Carlos' glass of spryngwotter(tm) that made Carlos experience a persistent but illusory high-pitched whine in his ears if he drank too much at once. Nothing worse happened, though, and the tinnitus itself wore off within thirty minutes maximum.

 

"I've heard leaving Night Vale involves certain complexities for someone who was born here." Somehow Carlos was even lovelier when newly showered and in his snuggly bedtime labcoat.

 

"I'll have to get a Temporary Exit permit from the City Council, but I have a spotless Escape Attempt Through Fraud and/or Tearful Begging record, and they know I love my job. My current contract with Station Management says I can take up to six cumulative - though not consecutive - weeks off per decade. I'll have to notify it first, of course, and work out what my symbolic tribute will be this time."

 

Carlos frowned. It didn't make him any less beautiful but it made Cecil's primary heart whimper inside his ribcage. "Will taking a week off be worth it? I don't want to make you burn through your vacation time or sick leave."

 

"I don't actually need to take sick days, sweet compassionate Carlos. Besides the lack of pain receptors my heritage makes any sort of disease an annoyance at worst. This is worth it to me. Anything involving you is worth it to me."

 

Oh my, Carlos thought that was deserving of a kiss! Cecil was embarrassed that almost all his tentacles couldn't restrain their enthusiastic flailing, but was a lot less uncomfortable than holding them in his dimensionally transcendent abdomen had been the first time Carlos kissed him. And all doubts were forgotten when Carlos just sank into a full embrace, the lithe yet durable two arms of his wrapped around Cecil, complementing Cecil's shakier but more numerous appendages that held Carlos tight but allowed for his comfortable breathing.


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil happily announced to Carlos over dinner ten days later that Station Management had granted his vacation request. "It only demanded a small slice of my liver as tribute! I was worried it might want a kidney. I know I'd survive fine with only one but what if you ended up needing a donation at some point? And of all the organs the liver regenerates pretty quickly and the angle was where I could get at it myself and...why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?"

"I..." Carlos pinned down a spinach leaf that was trying to escape but kept it fork-impaled for the time being. "I don't like you getting hurt. Even if you don't feel it and it doesn't do long-term damage."

"I want to meet your family. If I could I'd introduce you to my extended family, but many of them would be difficult and dangerous for you to attempt communication with. I'm glad you get along with Janice!" Cecil placed a hand on top of Carlos' free one, brushing his knuckles with a thumb. An eye manifested on the back of said hand and opened for a moment. "Oh, wonderful, the City Council has approved my request to them as well."

Carlos had seen sudden eyes blink into existence on various improbable parts of Cecil's body before, appearing as a side effect when Cecil needed to become aware of events in real time despite him not being physically present. He knew this was part of the standard radio host benefits package here, a job-related upgrade rather than something he was born with. Cecil had his tentacles installed as part of his Squid Scout ceremony (the highest rank he attained before being permitted to leave the Boy Scouts). It was bad manners to show them to anyone other than a significant other or healthcare provider, unless in dire emergency, and he prided himself on not making such a basic faux pas. Carlos stared at this latest eye not out of surprise but because it had a lovely violet iris. As usual it faded away seconds after Cecil announced what it had shown him. 

"That's good; it'd be a shame to give up that...tribute...without getting the go-ahead from the Council. Does your clairvoyance work outside the city limits?" Carlos' spinach was still struggling and now made soft whimpering noises too, so he went ahead and ate it to end its suffering. Surprisingly fresh for produce here. He wondered if it might have come from Old Woman Josie's vegetable patch.

Cecil had withdrawn his hand from his boyfriend's so he could wrangle his fajita with as much dignity as possible. His manners were too good to talk while chewing. Also, sometimes when he ate his teeth got sharper than he knew Carlos was comfortable looking at too long, especially if they were planning to have sex later that night. Cecil had excellent self-control and had never harmed Carlos, but primitive hindbrains are difficult to argue with when it comes to primordial terror. Can't fault someone for that. He settled for shaking his head instead of a more elaborate reply. 

"I think it would be good for you to keep your appearance as consistent as possible while in Morningtown. I never met anyone in Morningtown whose appearance shifted for any reason other than an accident or surgery, and if people notice you fluctuating like that without such extenuating circumstances one of our own Vague Yet Menacing Government Agencies might take you away. I have some other tips for you too about the culture and laws but we can talk about that after we're done eating. So you can take notes if you want." Carlos smiled and Cecil smiled back, though not as widely as Cecil was capable of smiling. Shredded cheese falling out of the corner of his mouth would ruin the moment.

After dinner it was important to do enough cleaning up that the Faceless Old Woman that lived in their home wouldn't leave passive-aggressive criticism via carefully arranged paperclips on the kitchen counter. Afterwards Cecil located his tablet, a fresh and blank slab of damp clay, and a sharpened reed to press the markings of Weird Shorthand onto the tablet's surface before he baked them permanently in. "Okay, ready for your guidance!"

This time Carlos sat up, on the couch leaning on an armrest, with his legs stretched out and his bare feet on Cecil's lap. A few days into their cohabitation Carlos had explained the concept of feet aching from standing and walking all day. By now Cecil had giving an effective foot massage via tentacles down to a - well, down to a science. 

By the time their discussion was over, Cecil had made the following notes:

\- Carlos' older sister is named Esperanza and is two years older than Carlos. 

\- They have a sixteen-year-old half-sister named Isabella who prefers to be called Isabel. She will not be considered a legal adult for two more years and is under Esperanza's legal guardianship. She is prone to anger and resentment towards her relatives and if she behaves this way towards Cecil it is nothing personal. 

\- Morningtown librarians are completely innocuous and overdue books are merely punished with fines.

\- Anyone Cecil is likely to meet will find the thought of anyone being punished for anything with measures harsher than fines, being forced to do community service, imprisonment, and on rare occasions execution by methods that do not take longer than a few minutes - to be appalling. 

\- Esperanza's fiance is named Justin Shoemaker. Despite the name, his occupation has nothing to do with shoes, instead he is a paramedic. Esperanza is a trauma surgeon and they work at the same hospital. 

\- Since the photo of himself that Cecil keeps on his desk at work so he can remember what he's supposed to look like is a bit too large to fit in his wallet, before they leave Night Vale Carlos will scan it and print out a shrunken version for Cecil to consult when necessary.

\- The dress code for Esperanza's wedding will be very specific and nothing in Cecil's current wardrobe, or Carlos' for that matter, will be suitable. They will go shopping beforehand. It would be best for Cecil's outfit to be purchased rather than rented, despite the expense, because if he accidentally oozes on it they won't be able to return it and it'll be more pricey in the long run.

\- The reason Esperanza is caring for Isabel is that Isabel is the product of an affair their mother had while still married to their father. Their father left them once he found out, as did Isabel's father, and their mother disappeared in unexplained circumstances eight months before Carlos' arrival in Night Vale.

\- No matter what problems may occur, Carlos will still love Cecil, and they'll figure their way out of them together.

\- No literal glowing in front of other people. It's adorable but they won't understand.


	3. Chapter 3

Carlos said the drive to Morningtown would take about seven hours total, and suggested they stop for lunch halfway through. They took Carlos' car since Cecil's vehicle had a 36% chance of combusting if it left town. "At least that's what my mechanic estimated last time," Cecil said as he shut the trunk containing their suitcases. "Her scrying pool had some algae growing on it during my appointment, though, so it's possible the percentage is higher."

 

"I think it'd be safer to avoid using non-Night Vale gasoline in a car purchased here anyway," Carlos replied, smiling.

 

The sun was still low and mildly cranky over the horizon as they embarked on their trip. Carlos took them on the route that did not pass Radon Canyon but did take them past some unusually well-trimmed cacti. There was even a small shop with a big sign reading TELLY'S TOPIARY and a curvaceous, ambulatory saguaro with an angular thorn-cut striding away from said establishment. Cecil did not comment upon this, since Carlos was busy explaining how ritual chicken mutilation followed by joyful naked yodeling among the guests was unlikely to be a feature at Esperanza's wedding. Such details were important to commit to memory.

 

"Would you like to listen to any music or some of the podcasts I have?" Carlos asked about two hours in o the drive. They had prearranged this to be a code phrase. Their system of Morse Coded taps on each other's bare skin while in complete darkness and wrapped in blankets and Cecil's extra limbs was cumbersome for lengthy discussions, and Carlos needed to be able to ask Cecil when they were out of the Sheriff's Secret Police's jurisdiction without worrying about the consequences if the answer was, "Not yet."

 

But Cecil leaned back in his seat and placed a hand on Carlos' sun-warmed denim-clad leg, merely resting it there so as not to distract him from safe automotive behavior. "I've been excited to hear what the thing you want to tell me is. Ever since you told me it was acceptable to be curious about it I have been abuzz with speculation."

 

"Yes, I could hear the whirring noise when you kissed me awake." Carlos was wearing sunglasses, depriving Cecil of those sweet pupils, incomparable irises, wonderful whites, and euphoric eyelashes for the time being, but he knew how important clear vision was to Carlos and the sporty look was yet another good look on him.

 

"There aren't any helicopters overhead, either. They rarely come out this far anyway. Part of getting Council approval for a temporary exit is the reassurance of not being gunned down by paramilitary forces just when we thought we were safe." Cecil munched on some trail mix, ready to hear Carlos' next words and gather them in the same manner a squirrel with kelptomania would gather other squirrel's acorns and jealously hoard them.

 

"Cool. Well, even if so I actually have a sort of diplomatic immunity from the Vague Yet Menacing Government Agencies, the City Council, and the Sheriff's Secret Police. Though the Hooded Figures could still potentially cause me problems as they're wild cards in this whole arrangement. Plus the Sheriff's Secret Police don't know of my status yet - it just means the Council will post unrefusable bail if I get in trouble for things that don't go beyond my superior's regulations. I work for a Vague Yet Well-Meaning and Merciful Government Agency whose pact with the various other organizations is that they can do what they want in Night Vale as long as the town is never completely destroyed and any malignant forces do not spread beyond."

 

Cecil picked a stubborn raisin out of his teeth before responding. "I'm glad this means you are likely to have a fair amount of job security, my darling Carlos, since I did fret that whoever was sponsoring your science might demand for you to leave m'us."

 

"Did you just say 'm'us'?"

 

Vermillion embarrassment, with occasional patches of ecru, washed over all of Cecil's exposed skin. "I...I meant to say 'me', then partway through I thought that might sound too clingy and I changed it to 'us', and oh gods I must sound like such a ditz omigodsomigods..."

 

"Cecil, Cecil, it's fine," Carlos said in soothing tones. "I'd be physically reassuring as well but some sharp turns are coming up and I don't want to risk an accident. I was just checking to see if I heard correctly. 'Me' wouldn't be too clingy. 'M'us' can mean 'us but especially me' if you like, unless it's in a sentence where it might get confused with the verb 'to muss', in which case ambiguity might be an issue."

 

"I don't sound like a ditz?"

 

"No. And you're just as lovable when you're flustered as when you're calm." Carlos looked at him and even behind polarized and UV-screening tinted glass his gaze had the sweetness and fludity of undiluted maple syrup from actual punctured and bleeding trees in freezing Canadian woodlands. "I'm not going to leave you of my own free will. And my agency is perfectly happy with me in your town and by your side."


	4. Chapter 4

"You may note that there are, in fact, mountains over there," Carlos said, gesturing.

"I will concede that there are shapes in the distance that resemble popular conceptions of mountains," Cecil said, unbuckling his seatbelt as Carlos impeccably parked his car next to the gas pump. "I assume the restroom will have a mirror."

Carlos pulled a thin tarp from the backseat and playfully draped it on Cecil's shoulders. "There won't be a camera, though, so no one will see you covering it up. If someone does ever give you trouble about things you need to do to feel safe I will happily give them a long, informative, memorable lecture explaining why they shouldn't cause you distress. Ever."

It took several minutes for Cecil to express his appreciation enough for him to enter the convenience store and let Carlos go about fueling his car. The young lady behind the cash register looked up briefly when an electronic tone dinged at Cecil's approach, but she went back to studying what looked like a history textbook. How diligent! Also this meant Cecil had successfully maintained an unremarkable appearance.

Covering a mirror while trying hard not to look at it isn't the easiest task, but Cecil had practice, and his time in the little unisex bathroom was without incident. He washed his hands, turned off the light, pulled off the tarp and folded it into a tidy square, then exited to examine what snacks and beverages were available.

To find Carlos stepping in the door of the convenience store and gaping at the girl who was taking notes on the blank backs of scratch paper, holding the textbook open with one hand. "Isabel?"

The girl looked up and raised her eyebrows. "Did Esperanza tell you where I'm working weekends, or have your bosses been spying on us as part of your benefits package?"

"I don't think they could spare the budget or personnel, given all the post-New York damage control, and you wouldn't be someone they were worried about. Anyway, she said you were saving up for a gap year, but she didn't get specific." He shifted his feet and adjusted the hem of his shirt. "Um...haven't seen you for almost eighteen months, could I hug you or something?"

Isabel rolled her eyes. "Fine. Whatever. But if that guy's gonna buy something I'm going to have to ring him up first."

Cecil leapt to Carlos' side. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of making dear Carlos postpone greeting his sister!"

"This is Cecil, my boyfriend, and, um, actually now that I'm not distracted by my surprise, if you can hold those thoughts I really need to go, but I'm gonna hug you when I'm back out. If that's okay." Carlos nearly went in the wrong direction but Cecil gently spun him so he was facing the restroom hidden behind an aisle of candy bars. 

Cecil strode to the counter and offered a hand. Isabel stared at it for a moment before limply shaking it. Had Cecil made a cultural faux pas or was Isabel just nervous? He'd have to ask later. "I'm Cecil Palmer, and I haven't really heard that much about you but that's probably because discussing family exposes your emotional pressure points to the Secret Police, which he says Morningtown doesn't even have, which is...wow. Like, I see how that would make you speak more casually but life must be a bit chaotic and risky? But I can see you're clearly dedicated to your studies and your hair is almost as glorious as Carlos'."

"He finally found someone more awkward than he is, dear God," Isabel muttered. Ordinarily Cecil would bristle at this diminishing of Carlos' unique brand of delightfulness, but he knew family members frequently teased and bickered with each other in ways acceptable for relatives and not acceptable for others. Carlos had said things about Isabel dealing with troubles that made her more caustic than she meant to be. So he just withdrew his hand and smiled.

"I assume we must be near your home, then, if you are working here. I didn't see a car though."

"Justin's picking me up today; we don't have enough money for Esperanza and I to have our own cars. His shift at the hospital ends an hour after mine so I brought my homework. Blair is taking over in twenty minutes." She peered at the little bit of exposed chest visible now that Cecil had unbuttoned his first two shirt buttons. "Hey, is that a tattoo?"

Cecil undid the third button and pulled apart the cloth to reveal the design, all in wide black lines, of a large eye with a swirling iris, spread across the flesh that covered his primary heart. "Yes, I got it when I was fifteen."

"My mom wouldn't let me get a tattoo when I was fifteen. That's cool."

"It was my mother who gave me the tattoo, I think. At least I woke up with it on my birthday and she snapped branches off an aloe plant and offered them to me to soothe the skin, showing no surprise, and I found sketches of the design stuck to the refrigerator with adorable little magnets that looked like baby chicks, all fluffy and green, which were the ones she used for her artwork whenever she wanted to display it...I think it protects me from something..."

Carlos was back, and he gave Cecil a poke to the lower ribs that meant "stop talking for reasons I will explain when we are alone", and said, "Hug, please, Isabel. And we'd love to give you a ride home; I texted Justin. I always thought he was a good guy and he said he'd be happy if you didn't have to wait." 

Isabel emerged from the employee-only zone and placed her arms around Carlos and allowed him to hug her. She gave Cecil a doubtful glance. Siblings are often suspicious of their sibling's significant others. Cecil would just have to prove himself, like how Justin evidently had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave my Cecil a tattoo the real-life Cecil Baldwin has, cause real!Cecil is adorable and amazing and more headcanons should be inspired by him.


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this turns into a crossover, which was not the author's original intent.

Isabel remained silent for most of the drive. Carlos said it was best that he didn’t talk at the moment so he could remember the way home. The quiet continued until they had pulled off the highway and entered a clearly residential area, past fruit orchards and scraggly meadows, with the occasional elementary school or grocery store, or what were probably churches though the lack of bloodstone circles seemed odd. Then Isabel’s phone burst into a song about “the dog days” being over. Cecil turned his head to see if she was distressed or relieved by this news, but it had evidently been a text alert rather than some kind of broadcast.

“Esperanza says if you can both be in your old room, Carlos, that’d be best, because your sidekicks from the academy arrived just before her shift and they’re in the guest room. And your...supervisor, I guess...is taking the couch in the basement. For some reason. She thought it’d be nice to invite him but wasn’t sure he’d come.” Isabella took a swig from a big bottle of premade iced tea. “If Fitz has disassembled my sewing machine again I don’t care if he promises to put it back better. I am going to draw on his face in permanent marker when he falls asleep.”

Carlos sighed. “That was one time, and he apologized. The people we’re talking about, Cecil, they work for the same agency that funds my science. I’m fairly sure I will be permitted to elaborate but I’d like to check first. The neurons and dendrites that make up the human brain are flexible and have a lot of plasticity when it comes to repairing damage, but we only have a finite number and I do want you to be able to keep as many of yours in their original condition as you can.”

Isabel said, “I’m going to start calling you ‘Carlos Sagan’ again if you don’t stop turning everything into a monologue on the cosmos.”

Cecil didn’t completely understand the reference, but since Carlos laughed and the skin around his eyes crinkled in that relaxed way that didn’t happen very often, he decided to appreciate the moment and let go of the details. “I trust that you are telling me what it is safe and necessary for me to know at a given time, Carlos,” he said, trying to guess which of the homes they passed on this increasingly narrow road would be the one.

“Thank you, Cecil. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons studied under many of the same instructors that I did, and since both of them are from the United Kingdom and it was too far to go home during holidays they would often come stay with us. I haven’t seen them since I accepted the Night Vale post and they went on a mission even more top-secret then mine. I think you’ll like them. They’re very into science and very excitable. Feel free to tell them to back off if they’re overwhelming you, though. Ah!” Carlos lit his turn signal and pulled into the dirt and gravel driveway of a three-story house, lights shining in the windows to combat the growing dark of evening. 

As Carlos parked and they started gathering up their things, Cecil asked, “What’s your supervisor’s name, if you’re allowed to tell me?”

“His name is Phil Coulson -”

At which Cecil made the kind of delighted shriek that Carlos was used to by now but made Isabel drop her oboe case in surprise. “You know Phil? I haven’t seen him since I was a kid!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not the first to use the fanon of Coulson being from Night Vale. I doubt I will be the last. It would explain a lot, wouldn't it? :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is such heavy infodump! At least you can enjoy Agent Melinda May having to say really ridiculous things in a very serious and dry manner?
> 
> Since I needed Carlos to have a last name, I thought it would be fair for him to share one with his voice actor just as Cecil shares a first name with his voice actor.

In a vague, yet menacing conference room on a vague, yet menacing aircraft, Agent Melinda May of SHIELD began briefing the two junior agents in front of her without preamble.

 

"'Soft Place' is one of the oldest Level 7 ongoing projects. The short version is that our dimension has a number of locations where the boundaries between our reality and others is weaker than usual, enough to allow in certain phenomena that do not correspond with our understanding of science. Various nations around the world have different terms and protocols. In the USA, any Soft Place that contains a civilian population is given a code name, monitored, and contained on a case-by-case basis."

 

The holographic table in front of her produced a three-dimensional image of the contiguous United States, with various spots illuminated in red, each with a label and caption:

 

TWIN PEAKS (low risk)

 

SUNNYDALE (neutralized*)

 

GRAVITY FALLS (low risk)

 

BEACON HILLS (moderate risk)

 

SILENT HILL (high risk)

 

PINE CLIFFS (moderate risk)

 

CASTLE ROCK [redacted]

 

WONDERFALLS (low risk)

 

DESERT BLUFFS (high risk)

 

NIGHT VALE (moderate risk*)

 

May tapped on the last of them in midair, and the image changed to a map of a decent-sized town in the Southwest, which Skye stared at, fascinated. "Why do they have a harbor? And a drawbridge?"

 

Agent Ward had his habitual mostly-blank semi-frown when he said, "If these locations are so risky for their residents, there must be an important reason to let people continue to live there rather than evacuating."

 

With a nod, May pulled up the file of a SHIELD employee she had met once and reviewed correspondence from several times in the past seventeen months. "Soft Places are impossible to close. Allowing communities to remain in their vicinity can give us an idea of what precisely would happen if the extradimensional influences were to spread. It lets us pick our battles."

 

"So the towns just get left to be, what, helpless guinea pigs?"

 

"It's not like that, Skye. We send agents to mitigate potential catastrophe as well as keep unavoidable catastrophes contained." May zoomed in on the employee ID and turned it so the others could see. "This is Dr. Carlos Marron, our scientific mission director in Night Vale."

 

"Oh, he's cute." Ward stared at Skye, who grinned at him. "What?"

 

"Initially he was one of a larger on-site team, but as every member of the original team except for him died, disappeared, had a psychotic break, or begged to be transferred, his coworkers now commute and the personnel are on a three-month rotation. Dr. Marron, though, has recently cosigned an apartment lease and changed his legal residency to Night Vale. Coulson and Fitzsimmons, who know him personally, are going to be doing an evaluation of his physical and mental state this week, as it is the first time he has left Night Vale since his original posting."

 

Ward paused in flicking through some of the intel on Night Vale. "It seems like the local government is hostile."

 

"Hostile and possessing tech unseen anywhere else. Local mutation rates are high for reasons still unclear, as is bizarre elective surgery, and the death rates are far above the national mean." May brought up pictures of mysterious hooded figures sitting on a swing set, a cloud with dead animals falling from it, a woman in a well-tailored pantsuit who would have been unremarkable except for having wide, shovel-like paws for hands, and a five-headed dragon. Standing at a podium. Handing out leaflets.

 

"How has Carlos done so well there, if everyone else freaks out or dies?" Skye skimmed over his bio. "Whoa, he doesn't just know Fitzsimmons, they were classmates. Figures."

 

"Though we shouldn't discount Dr. Marron's qualifications and adaptability, the most important factor is that one of the most powerful locals, a friendly Gifted named Cecil Palmer, fell deeply in love with him his first day there."

 

"I take it that by this point it's reciprocal," Ward said dryly, a Facebook photo album of sickeningly cute cuddles and kisses open in front of him.

 

Skye leaned over to peek. "Is that cat floating? That is a cat, right?"

 

"There was some debate among the higher-ups about potential fraternization problems, but years ago Palmer was helpful to SHIELD, coming in at Coulson's request and giving us a lot of our best intel. He requested false memory implantation afterwards to avoid penalties for colluding with a rival to what is termed the Sheriff's Secret Police. To this day he believes he spent that time period backpacking in nonexistent European countries." May then pulled up two pictures of Cecil Palmer, one fully clothed and one shirtless. He seemed nondescript and mundane enough, but the shirtless picture revealed four striking tattoos on his body, all in black: a large eye over his heart, a symbol that looked like a wiggly star with a little white flame in the middle just above his right hip, a pentagram surrounded by wavy lines just above his left hip, and the words "VOICE OF NIGHT VALE" on his upper right arm.

 

Zooming in on the hip tattoos, Skye let out a short laugh. "Hey, those are the Elder Sign from Lovecraft books and the anti-possession thing from Supernatural."

 

May had known Ward long enough to decipher his minute eyelid twitch as confusion. "She's referring to a classic horror author and a popular TV show, respectively."

 

"The Elder Sign is supposed to repel Elder Gods, like these big evil beings from another dimension that are trying to break through to ours and just looking at them makes you go maaaaaaaaad." Skye paused in her melodramatic pronunciation and made a face. "Wait, is that another thing that's real?"

 

"At least if they are and the people of Night Vale know something we don't, the symbols should also be effective. But don't discount that he might simply be a fan of those works. You'll have the opportunity to ask him."

 

"I'm not super comforted by that."

 

Ward focused on a different aspect. "We're doing an interview, then."

 

With a swipe of her left hand May dismissed the various intriguing images they had accumulated upon the digital table surface. She replaced them with two video feeds, which were of the same room but different angles. "The audio is mute at the moment, but Fitzsimmons have recording devices on them. Since it is difficult to get Palmer away from Night Vale without causing suspicion from the hostiles of Night Vale with whom we maintain a delicate truce, we're taking advantage of the Marron family inviting him, Fitzsimmons, and Coulson to the eldest sister's wedding. Fitzsimmons and Coulson will get as much intel as they can from casual interaction, and we're going to talk to him in a more official capacity. "

 

"Okay, but what are his powers?" Skye asked.

 

"And why is Coulson not wearing any recording devices?" Ward asked.

 

"The answers are related. The Voice of Night Vale is, as far as we can tell, some sort of extradimensional symbiote that attaches itself to a native Night Valien and becomes a part of them for the rest of their life. It gives its host the ability to hypnotically influence the emotions and actions of anyone within or originally from Night Vale, awareness of events within Night Vale regardless of the host's physical proximity, intermittent mind-reading of native Night Valiens, and tendency to become a 'mouthpiece' for telepathic beings that wish to communicate verbally. While Palmer as a human being is a friendly, the Voice has given us cause for concern in the past."

 

"What kind of concern are we talking?" Ward asked, his shoulders squared and position ramrod straight like they hadn't been earlier.

 

"Some of the community radio broadcasts hosted by Palmer have been found and recorded. In one newscast, the Voice took Cecil's desire for Dr. Marron to be safe and happy, then weaponized its hypnotic abilities to drive a Night Vale barber to sudden and permanent psychosis. Because he gave Dr. Marron a bad haircut."

 

"No touchie the Carlos, got it," Skye murmured. "So we're gonna bring him in and make sure that Nice Human Cecil is enough in charge that Scary Overkill Symbiote doesn't turn him into a murder puppet?"

 

Ward was stifling a smile. Few people would have noticed. "I suggest not phrasing it that way in your post-mission report. Not clear what this has to do with Coulson's role in the mission."

 

"Coulson was born and raised in Night Vale -"

 

"That explains so much, I can't even tell you," Skye broke in.

 

May raised an eyebrow. "I believe he was Palmer's Little League coach at one point. Anything we don't want the Voice to know, Coulson believes he shouldn't know either. Ever since he became the Voice's host at the age of fifteen Palmer can read the minds of native Night Valiens."

 

Silence sank over the room as the implications sank into the SHIELD agents' thoughts.

 

Ward asked quietly, "Does Dr. Marron know all this?"

 

"He doesn't know about our concerns and mission objective. The rest, yes. He seems happy." Unspoken, but understood, was _I hope we don't have to change that._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I referenced a bunch of fandoms for crossover funzies. Castle Rock is a reference to Stephen King, Sunnydale is from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Beacon Hills is from Teen Wolf, Pine Hills was mentioned in one WTNV episode as another nearby town that presumably is a neutral party, and the other towns are also the names of their fandoms.
> 
> The term/concept of "Soft Places" itself is from Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics.
> 
> Cecil Baldwin actually has tattoos in those locations, but only the eye one is real. I know this because of a video in which him, Dylan Marron, and other male members of the NY Neo Futurists dance topless for charity.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my updates are so infrequent, loves! As a professional novelist/editor with bipolar disorder I have to prioritize during my good times. Thank you for all the comments and kudos. I have a special Reviews folder where I keep them all to help me through the bad times.

Carlos had not mentioned how puppy-like "Fitzsimmons" could be when expressing delight. Jemma Simmons flung her arms around him the moment they entered, her speech best transcribed as:

"It'ssogoodtoseeyouagainCarloswe'veheardabouttherestoftheagentsdispatched and we were SO WORRIED thatsomethingwouldhappentoyoubeyondwhatyoucouldhandle is this your boyfriend he's so handsome andsorrywehaven'tbeenintouchthingshavebeen absolutely MAD and we have so much to tell you..."

"Maybe you should let him go before both of you run out of air," Fitz suggested. "Besides, it's my turn." Cecil found his accent interesting and wondered if the curly-haired little scientist had roots in Luftnarp.

While Fitz was hugging Carlos, not quite as tightly but talking equally fast, Cecil came face-to-face with Phil Coulson for the first time since Coulson survived the Vague but Menacing recruiting rituals and left Night Vale. As per protocol, Cecil greeted him with, "You know what really gets my goat?"

Coulson smiled and responded without hesitation. "El Chupacabra. What animal was I linked to as my protector and oracle when I was permitted to leave the Boy Scouts?"

"The oppossum. What about me?"

"The Fennec fox." Then they did an elaborate handshake that at one point involved lightly booping each other on the tip of the nose with their left pinkie finger.

Justin, who had hung back from the boisterous greetings, raised an eyebrow. He was still in scrubs, most likely just returned home, and Cecil noticed a long white scar a half-inch below his collarbone, stark against his dark skin. "Did you guys belong to a really exclusive club or something?"

"It's way to ensure we are the originals of the person each of us knew once," Coulson explained. Even though Cecil had never really felt about Phil that way, and still didn't (who could possibly outshine Carlos?), the man did look superb in a suit. Even when no one else was dressed nearly as formally.

"Or at least that the doppelgangers/clones/androids are very well made," Cecil added. He wasn't quite sure why everyone but Carlos laughed at that. He would inquire later.

 

Isabel dropped her backpack on the floor and undid her ponytail. "Is Esperanza still working?"

 

"Yeah - I managed to wrangle going home early so someone would be here to take care of guests, but she's doing a surgery at the moment. If everyone is amenable, and once Carlos and Cecil have settled their things and had a moment to freshen up, would people be up for helping me with dinner? I think Esperanza will be pretty exhausted and it'd be nice to have it done when she's home." Justin motioned at Cecil to remove his shoes by the door. Carlos blushed the blush of the person who has forgotten something they had known for years, and toed off his sneakers.

 

"I've still got five pages of my research paper to write," Isabel said, bending down to remove a three-ring binder from her bag.

 

"Then after you take out the trash you are excused. We'll let you know when dinner's ready. If you have enough time, it'd be appreciated if you put the scraps in the compost heap after, but I know you've had a busy day and I'm sure Carlos remembers how to feed the pile." Justin put a gentle hand on Isabel's shoulder and she almost smiled before trudging further into the large, airy house.

Carlos perked up. "Ooh, how are the earthworms doing? In Night Vale an earthworm climbed into the sink and drew concentric circles using dish soap, so some earthworms that just assist in biodegrading will be a restful change."

"I've never seen an Outsider adjust so well to our town," Coulson said quietly to Cecil as the trio of scientists went off on a cheerful discussion about earthworm capabilities. "Do you need help with your bags?"

"That'd be nice, thank you. And, well, no one else is like him, you know."

 

"He can't possibly not feel pain," Simmons protested a moment later, loud enough that Cecil could hear her even as Coulson guided him up the stairs to Carlos' old room. Coulson had never stayed there before but he said he walked past the enthusiastically labeled door several times en route to the upstairs bathroom, which got better water pressure than the one downstairs for some reason.

 

Cecil stopped for a moment, wondering why Simmons sounded so upset, but Carlos explained to her in soothing tones, "It's not so much congenital analgesia - it's too common in Night Vale to be the case, the death rates would be far higher than they are already. It's bad enough for the accidental injury rates of children born with it in the outside world. If Cecil knows pain is coming he doesn't feel it, or he stops feeling ongoing pain beyond registering that physical harm is occuring. He, and all the other Night Valians I've interviewed with the same trait, do feel unexpected pain and can act accordingly. Much like how the human brain only registured stimuli as ticklish if the touch is unpredictable. You can't tickle yourself. Cecil can't cause pain to himself on purpose. He once shrieked in the middle of the night when he stubbed his toe going to fetch a drink, but I saw him wax his legs for an evening of disco dancing without a peep."

Coulson murmured, "I'll have to tell you some great stories about how I learned it doesn't work that way for people born elsewhere."

 

"Sounds like a plan." And Cecil moved upwards again, confident Carlos could introduce him to his friends better than Cecil could ever introduce himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fennec fox, for your edification:
> 
>  


	8. Chapter 8

Esperanza Marron came home from her exhausting shift to find a veritable banquet on the dining table, a kiss from Justin as he pulled out her chair, cheerful greetings from Coulson and Fitzsimmons, a polite nod from Isabel, a big hug from Carlos, and a heartfelt but confusing speech from Cecil that Carlos was so lucky his sister had good taste in husbands. "Look at how great Justin is! And how my darling Carlos, while sitting next to him, isn't at all irritated or exasperated or having to remind himself that his niece doesn't like fighting at the dinner table, at least not at any time other than the designated mealtimes for petty grievance settlements!"

Carlos was no help in interpreting this rant. He was busy giggling into his lemonade and squeezing his suddenly agitated boyfriend's hand. Simmons was helping Fitz with a localized salsa-based catastrophe. Fitz generally had trouble getting through any meal unscathed. Isabel was clearly texting under the table. Justin was just as clearly very hungry, and now that he knew Esperanza was home and safe, nothing existed beyond his dinner plate.

Coulson, whom she never caught eating but always had less food on his plate each time she glanced at him, took pity on her. He leaned over and said quietly, "Cecil's irrational distaste for his brother-in-law is well-known throughout Night Vale."

"There is nothing irrational about being repulsed by STEVE CARLSBERG," Cecil wailed, but Carlos hushed him by whispering something in his ear. Which made Cecil turn red in a completely different way.

Esperanza raised her eyebrows, lowered them again, shrugged, and started eating. It was very good. "Pass the salt, please."

\--------

"I knew that would get you to behave," Carlos teased, sometime later, tucked against Cecil so they both fit in Carlos' old bed. It was a tight enough fit that, after they'd had their fun, Cecil had withdrawn all non-standard limbs in favor of minimalist cuddling.

"As behavior modifications strategies go...I'm all right with this one," Cecil replied. His pleasantly-worn-out voice had a catch, a roughness, to it that his usual voice didn't. Carlos liked being one of the few people who ever had a chance to hear it. "Your sisters are nice. I didn't mean to mess up dinner for them."

"You didn't. You were just - there was a potential for you getting more intense. Than would have been considerate of how tired Espie was. Today she had to crack open someone's ribs and physically massage their heart until machines and healing could take over. What does your sister do for a living again?"

Cecil's face took on that blank, hunted look he had whenever he realized he couldn't remember something. Carlos cringed inside and kissed Cecil's jaw. "Never mind. Could you turn the lamp off? 

In reaching over to do so, Cecil accidentally switched the lamp to its UV setting rather than its normal one. Teenage Carlos thought having a bedside lamp with a blacklight mode was the coolest thing ever. Cecil gasped, and Carlos was about to reassure him that these lamps were yet another thing legal outside Night Vale, but then he realized Cecil was looking at himself.

On Cecil's bare chest, surrounding the eye-shaped tattoo over his heart, was line after line of tiny white letters tattooed in UV ink. 

Carlos sat up. "Stay still, Cecil."

"What does it say?" He was so quiet, his words so close together. "What. What does it say? What does it say?"

"It's going to be all right." Carlos took one of Cecil's hands in his, even as he clambered into a better position. "How long have UV lights been illegal for domestic use in Night Vale?"

"Uh...since I was a kid, I think. Probably. The Skeleton War. It was the only way."

"Right." Commenting on that, or asking for details, was not going to help. 

"You can see what it is, right?"

Carlos went for 'jovial reassurance'. "Of course. I'm, like, from the University of What It Is. Which is a thing. So...if I'm not remembering this wrong, this was the weather on your show once. The words from your show's weather."

"Perfect imperfect Carlos, you are my mysterious lights in the sky and I would hate to shake you for not getting to the point. Please. Read it to me."

When Carlos first arrived in Night Vale, he only sporadically listened to Cecil's show. He and his team listened to it in shifts. There was so much to study, after all. The day Carlos nearly died at the tiny hands of the civilization under the bowling alley changed that. Like it changed so much else. Since then, Carlos listened to Cecil every time he was on the air. He listened to some of the episodes more than once. 

One episode, in particular, he'd re-listened to so many times, every time making sure Cecil wouldn't know, that he recognized the song lyrics before the end of the second line.

PRAYER IS THE BELL JAR YOU PUT OVER THIS GOODBYE. I’D RATHER LEAVE THIS EMBRACE BETWEEN YOU AND I. LET’S LOCK OUT THE BEARDED OLD MAN IN THE NIGHT GOWN. HE CAN TAP AGAINST THE GLASS BUT I’M NOT COMING OUT. I BUILD BRIDGES WITH THESE ARMS, I WILL NOT BUILD A FORTRESS. IN THE CIRCLE AROUND THE KITCHEN TABLE I SAY MY “AMEN” BECAUSE I FEEL BLESSED. SECRETLY HOPING WHILE JOINING HANDS THAT YOU CAN’T FEEL MY TREMBLING FINGERTIPS. IF I SIGN THIS PIECE OF PAPER DO I SELL MY SOUL ALONG WITH MY DUTIES? WE WON’T PUT OUR MONEY WHERE YOUR CATHOLIC MOUTH IS. EVEN THOUGH THE TEETH ARE LONG GONE THERE’S STILL BONE BENEATH THE GUMS AND THERE’S A LOT OF POTENTIAL IN A MIGHTY ORGAN. AND THEY TOLD US NOT TO CLAP SO WE CLAP AS LOUD AS WE CAN BECAUSE THE REVERB IN THOSE HOLY HALLS IS LIKE A LONG LOST FRIEND. HE KEEPS HITTING THE WALLS AND COMES ALL THE WAY BACK AGAIN. I WANT TREES INSTEAD OF GRAVESTONES AND NOTHING TO CONFESS. I GOT A SOFT SPOT FOR YOUR ANCIENT BOOKS OF HORROR STORIES. I GOT A MUSIC IN MY EARS FROM LONG LONG AGO AND FAR FAR AWAY AND I STILL HUM ITS TUNE BUT HOW COULD I EVER BELIEVE EVERY WORD IT SAYS TO ME? WE FOLLOW OUR OWN STEPS WHILE OUR SHADOWS KEEPS WATCHING US. THE WRONG STEPS WOULD BE NOT TO START THIS EXODUS.

 

When Carlos finished reading, Cecil sat up, hugging himself as if to cradle the words, maybe even absorb them. "She must have known I could only read them outside of Night Vale."

"Who?" Carlos lay back down again, gently tugging Cecil along.

 

"My mother. It's a last message from my mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "Big Houses" by Squalloscope, featured in the episode "Cassette". The one where Cecil found out a lot of things he'd forgotten about when he was fifteen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Third Anniversary episode gave me such feels that I had to continue. This chapter has mild spoilers for "[Best of?]", "Cassette", and "Deft Bowman".

Phil Coulson always knew Cecil was different, in a way that went beyond his prophesied future job. Having one's physical appearance vary from day to day wasn't uncommon in Night Vale - some residents could outright shapeshift into animals, plants, and inanimate objects on a whim, and Cecil always stayed adult and humanoid, usually presenting as male. Relatively speaking it was almost dull. 

But Phil's memories of Cecil were...warped. He was Cecil's Little League coach. He knews this. Yet he remembered, just as vividly, Cecil reaching the rank of Squid Scout when Coulson hadn't even been drafted into the Scouts yet. His memories simultaneously placed Cecil as being born in the 1980s and of always having been there, of having spent years as an intern at the station yet always having been the radio host. Sometimes he thought he remembered Cecil's funeral (and everyone saying he died so young, what a pity).

The lifetime of Leonard Burton, Cecil's predecessor, was similarly twisted and sideways in Phil's mind. The Voice must do that to its radio Hosts. 

Now, though, Cecil looked just like he did last night, if more rumpled and drowsy. He and Carlos were seated at the kitchen table, Carlos drawing diagrams of formalwear to explain why Cecil's dress sense might have to be compromised at his sister's wedding. 

"And they're always black and white? Only black and white?" Cecil asked, an air of tragedy hanging about him and his plate that was now full of abandoned watermelon seeds and pumpernickel toast crumbs. He clutched at his giant mug of coffee as if for comfort. 

"I'm afraid so," Carlos said with equal solemnity. He siped at the dregs of his orange juice. "I bet Esperanza and Justin would be totally fine with it if you want to wear a colorful necktie, though. I'll wear a tie just like it, so you won't be the only one."

Phil was trying to sneak past them to put his own plate in the sink, but he had to pause at the sheer adoration Cecil was radiating at his boyfriend. It was blinding.

Whatever was up with Cecil, there was no doubt at all that he was a man in love.

...............

Fitz was wary of coming along to Justin's bachelor party. He'd only met Justin once, briefly, back when Carlos was in SHIELD training and inviting Fitzsimmons to his family's house all the time. Simmons reassured him that it wouldn't be anywhere near as rowdy as a typical Scottish stag night. And Fitz had a job to do. 

His social anxiety ended up receding when it turned out Justin's friends simply reserved their group a private room at a karaoke bar, and everyone is simply telling stories and singing, with alcohol consumption ending at "tipsy". That is, if they drank at all. Apparently many of the guests were Justin's coworkers; they were EMTs and paramedics who probably wouldn't, but still might, get called in within the next 24 hours. 

Cecil wasn't drinking. When Fitz offered to get him something Cecil smiled and said, "Thank you, but I only drink to forget. And I don't want to forget any part of today."

Fitz was just reflecting on how Coulson hadn't been exaggerating, Cecil's voice did sound like melted dark chocolate and cold clear water and snuggly blankets all at once, when Cecil peered amiably at one of Fitz's shirt buttons. Fitz froze. "Is, uh, did I spill something on myself?"

"I don't see any spills, and Carlos said you don't have invisible bourbon here. I was just admiring how tiny and well-made the hidden spy camera is that you're wearing. Simmons' is lovely too, but I didn't get a chance to observe hers up close. None of the ones the Sheriff's Secret Police put in our apartment are nearly that adorable. It really makes me feel at - oh, oh, Carlos is singing Carlos is singing stop everything." Cecil directed all his attention towards the stage.

Carlos didn't quite have the range to handle Freddie Mercury, at least not when he'd had two cocktails, but not many people do at the best of times. His singing was certainly heartfelt. His song was certainly so cheesy, in context, that it looped back around again to sweet. Especially since he was altering some of the lyrics as he went. _"I sit alone, and watch your light, my only friend though desert nights...and everything I had to know, I learned it on my radio...."_

"Do you need to sit down?" one Justin's friends asked Cecil, who was swaying slightly.

"I've never been better," Cecil sighed out.

"He's being serenaded," Fitz stage-whispered. But he readied a chair for when Carlos got to the chorus.

_"You have the time! You have the power! You've yet to have your finest hour! All we hear is: Radio Night Vale, Radio Night Vale, Radio Night Vale...."_

Cecil ended up sinking into that offered chair when Carlos pointed straight at him. Cecil looked, in the dim light, like he was radiating some kind of glow of his own. 

_"Radio, what's new? Radio, someone still loves you."_

Coulson had warned them that Cecil was very good at spotting surveillance tech, though was unlikely to be distressed by it. So Fitz did his best to not be distressed either. He might have said something rather rude towards someone who suggested he sing "I'm Gonna Be", aka "the 500 miles song", though. 

........

Skye found it a bit anticlimactic that Cecil Palmer simply asked Coulson to escort him to his "Vague yet well-intentioned-according-to-Carlos Agency base", because he wanted answers about himself. And that he'd cheerfully given handshakes to her, May, and Ward upon arrival. 

"Do Fitzsimmons need to be involved?" Cecil asked, cracking his knuckles and stretching various limbs. It was convenient how chill he was about the prospect of being strapped to a chair and have his usual consciousness bypassed, but it was also creepy, especially when Skye let herself think about why he might be used to it. "I feel quite comfortable around them, they're such good friends to Carlos, but I don't want them to get upset or hurt. The last time Station Management sent me for HR recalibration, I'm told they had to renovate the Dark Box and replace three officers. Two of them were good as new once they found their feet." 

(Why did that sound way too literal?)

"We don't need them for this," Coulson replied in soothing tones. "Their job is to analyze the data afterwards. Skye here is compiling the data, but she's going to be in the next room watching us on a screen. May will be investigating. Ward is here to ensure our well-being. I'm here to take care of your well-being."

Cecil looked far more relaxed. (Skye felt far less.) "What about my installations, though? I don't want them flailing around, and they might try to free me."

"I had Carlos smuggle out some of the necessary relaxants. Sheriff-grade. Strong enough so that we won't see even an inch of tendril. Take a seat and I can inject you with it."

If Skye wasn't so nervous, she would have found it funny how Cecil kept telling Ward, "Nope, I can still get out of that. One more notch. I could get out of that if I broke my thumb...do you have anything else? Remember that I don't feel self-inflicted or expected pain, so don't rely on that as a containment measure...Phil, we're going to be done in time for my tux fitting, right?"

"Probably, but I'll text Carlos if you're going to be late. He said we can reschedule if needed." Coulson put a steadying hand on Cecil's shoulder as he injected him with some kind of fizzy blue solution. Cecil didn't so much as wince. 

"You're a good friend, Phil." Cecil squirmed experimentally. "This might get ugly. Half-memories you slide away from. You know."

"I do. I have to unbutton your shirt now, so we can see the tattoo you're worried about."

"Fine."

Phil did, with calm efficiency. "Ready? Skye, next room, please. If the three of us become incapacitated, press the red button and evacuate to the Marrons' house. Carlos and Fitzsimmons have Plan B, C, and Z briefing packets."

"You were always so prepared," Cecil commented. "I told your grandmother you'd do great things one day. She didn't think it was the most relevant thing to discuss on the first day of second grade, but - oh, that's. Oh. That's how you're going to. I don't like mirrors."

"I know," Coulson said, his voice gentle even as he moved a few feet away.

May was holding a large mirror, enough for both a face and most of a person's torso, facing towards Cecil. Ward had one as well, which they held at angles that filled Cecil's field of vision. Cecil couldn't turn his head, thanks to the high-backed chair. He closed his eyes, humming.

"Open your eyes, Cecil," Coulson said, still gentle, still compassionate.

"IdonwannapleaseIdonlikemirrors."

Firmer. "You're never going to find out what your mother meant by that tattoo if you don't."

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease..."

Harsher. "The Agency won't be able to keep Night Vale safe if we don't understand the Voice."

"But..."

 _Cruel._ "What if it turns out you're dangerous to Carlos? What if it turns out you could hurt him without even knowing, without even meaning to? What if Carlos dies because you wouldn't address that part of you, Cecil?"

With a gasp, Cecil's eyes flew open, and his face contorted into a silent sob. He stared right at his reflection, which flickered, as did his own physical appearance. He shook and shuddered violently. His size remained consistent enough that containment wasn't an issue, but his skin tone, apparent age, facial features, scars or lack of scars all varied wildly in the space of a few seconds. 

Then both mirrors cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, they were not human eyes.

Skye tried to focus on her work as she watched the video feed. But Cecil's eyes had no whites anymore. They had dark purple sclera, violet irises, and what looked like a tiny crescent moon in each eye instead of a pupil. And the moment she looked away, she couldn't remember any other part of his appearance (beyond "adult" and "masculine"). 

Cecil's voice was rich and sonorous before, but now it was impossibly fuller, broader, filling up the room despite speaking quietly. There was no whimsy in it anymore, no wonder, no frailty. "That's not kind."

"Are you the Voice of Night Vale?" May asked, handing her mirror to Ward, who quickly went to store both without dropping any broken glass.

"I am. It's been a long time since I've been away from home. I don't like going other places. They make me feel like I'm wrong. Cecil's wilfull that way. I'm talking to you now so you don't try to persuade him to bring us out again."

Skye wasn't just recording and entering data, she was also handwriting personal observations as fast as she could. Apparently stuff from Night Vale could mess with technology. That was why they'd also designated a computer for this which wasn't connected to the rest of their systems.

May tilted her head, arms crossed. "What do you mean by 'That's not kind,'?"

"The most recent time I killed Cecil, I came out of a mirror. Well, killed is a strong word - harvested him? Scooped him out? Like he's a jack-o-lantern and I'm the candle, only the candle isn't the one who does all the work, when I've put a lot of work into keeping this host going. Leonard's a decent host too, but I hadn't perfected the system when I started with him. He's for when Cecil's too young to hold me."

"This interview will go much more quickly if you tell your story in a linear fashion," Coulson said.

The Voice either chuckled or was trying to tear a hole in the space-time continuum. "If you want a productive interview, talk to the Smiling God that runs Desert Bluffs. But you are one of mine, Phil Coulson, and you have worked to preserve my Host's life. I will try. In your mind, Phil, I see that you are familiar with Soft Places. There are things in Night Vale that want to seep through. They want to take over everything beyond. Station Management. The Hooded Figures. The City Council. The Shape in Mission Grove Park that No One Acknowledges or Speaks About."

"What shape?" Coulson asked.

Skye wanted them to stop maybe-amusing the Voice, as she wasn't sure space-time could handle it. "Exactly. I hold them back. They will not use my home as their gateway. It takes so much out of me to do this, though. I need to constantly cultivate different kinds of memories to feed on, for one. That's why so much happens in Night Vale, bad and good. I also can't sustain my own corporeality. And you humans start out so small and weak."

"We believe you to attach yourself to a series of hosts. Is that correct?" May asked. She stood closest to Cecil, and the entity they were talking to, but she was still about six feet away. Ward was the furthest away, at parade rest but armed and ready.

"Most humans aren't suitable. You can't eat ancient-style wild corn, you have to eat the corn you've specially hybridized and cultivated to fit your needs. Time isn't linear for me. I'm only acting like it is for the sake of your brains. If Cecil could fit it all in his mind, he would remember that he was first born before pale strangers came to my lands, before radio, when it was only my voice in my people's ears. I couldn't stay in him for more than a few minutes when he was a child. I could do so for a few hours at a time when he was an intern - when I was internal, but not always. Most radio station interns prove very unsuitable indeed, and I dispose of them. I keep one or two at a time as backups, just in case."

"Sounds like a lot of death," May said, her voice level.

"That's what life involves. If those things come through Night Vale, we'll have neither. Guard dogs need meat. I've even had to save you from yourselves, so don't act so aghast at what I have to do. The world ended in 1983."

"Wait, what?" Skye said to herself. Ward seemed to mouth something similar on the screen. Coulson looked...like he'd found the answer to something.

For the first time, the Voice sounded distressed. " And it was all humanity's work. Weapons upon weapons stockpiled. A misunderstanding between leaders and armies. Bomb. Bomb. Bomb. The ash and the poison fell everywhere, the sun blotted out, all life dying and fading. My Night Vale dying. My Night Vale, gone, forever. So I...I made it not have happened."

"Nulogorsk!" Coulson exclaimed. "That's why we stopped talking to Nulogorsk. It's a Soft Place in Russia, Agent May."

The Voice still sounded upset. "Mm. My sister city objected. It said, yes, my people are dying, but it is in the nature of people to die. You can't fix everything, change time, without consequences. And I said yes, there are consequences, but my way, there are people, too. So far only a few in Night Vale have gone insane over it. Nulogorsk is in a time bubble, instead, always the days before. Night Vale's path is twisted, but it moves on."

"Do you bring back the dead, or do you just mess with timelines?" May asked. 

"I can't take a dead thing and make it living, no. But when Cecil is destroyed externally, I take the younger him and move it when needed. The last time I took him over, it was through a mirror. But this time..."

"I notice the tattoo on his chest has stayed the same," May said.

The Voice sighed. "I let him be born to a seer this time. She objected to me. I showed her what would happen to Night Vale and the world without me, and I don't think she was quite the same after that, but before I moved in she put this seal on him. She hid from me after. I haven't found her. I think she's dead, but I can't find her timeline."

Skye almost jumped when Ward asked, slowly and clearly, "What does the seal do?"

"It's kept part of him here. The real him, not just the shell I wear. He does things I don't want him to do. He feels things I can't feel. When Night Valians fear or hurt or die so that I stay alive, so that I can keep the rest of us safe, he resents it. He fights me. He doesn't just love the town, like I do. He loves people in the town. He loves the town because of the people, not because it's mine. _He loves someone who isn't from Night Vale at all._ I killed him through the mirror, but I can't scoop him out."

Then Cecil's phone went off. The ringtone was a very bad recording of someone singing Queen. 

With a long exhale, the Voice's eyes slid shut.

Carlos walked into the camera's path, carrying a folded colorful shawl. He looked a little shaky. "I hope that wasn't premature. I felt like it was going from 'SHIELD need-to-know' to 'private life'."

"It's fine," Coulson said. "You can join us for debriefing after getting him back to the house." He exited the room, motioning at May and Ward to do so too. 

Carlos approached Cecil and started undoing the straps and chains. "Hey sweetie," he said, barely loud enough for the cameras to pick up.

Cecil's eyes opened, so human now it hurt something in Skye's soul. "Oh, hi. Did I fall asleep? What were we doing? Was it good? Of course it was good."

"You did great," Carlos said, getting him free surprisingly quickly, then wrapping the shawl around him. "We can talk later. I think you need a nap."

Ward, May, and Coulson joined Skye, all intent on the video screen. 

Cecil, drowsy and out-of-it, let Carlos lead him out. "I love you," he said.

"That's one of only two things I'm certain of," Carlos replied.

"What's the other one?"

"I love you too."

Cecil giggled.

May said, "I don't envy them."

Skye said, "In a weird way, I kinda do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite like "500 Miles", but I was imagining Fitz being tired of "durr get the Scottish guy to sing the only Scottish song I've heard".
> 
> The original music video for "Radio GaGa" strikes me as one Carlos might like, beyond the obvious lyrical bonus.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason it's been SO DAMN LONG (I'm sorry) is that I stopped watching AoS and then wasn't sure what to write next, and then the longer I went the more I felt like the ending had to be really great to make up for all this time. Which meant I didn't write it. I'm on a campaign now to face my anxieties and stop agonizing over whether this is any good. I feel like I owe you and the story a bit of closure, however late and minimal. 
> 
> Also, I have nothing against Tallahassee, Florida, except perhaps the irritating song about a Tallahassee lassie who is a little sassy, but to her admirers she's really classy.

Director Fury,

I have of course already filled out my official report, but you requested a more personal note.

First off, I want someone to give a harsh rebuke to the SHIELD officer who questioned Dr. Carlos Marron’s need to complete his paperwork as recorded oral reports. His accommodations for neurodivergence became official back when he was still a trainee. Sometimes I think half of SHIELD is completely disregarding the other half.

If anyone thinks I’m biased about Mr. Palmer, show them that May’s assessments are essentially the same as mine, and that they were sent in before she had discussed them with me. I am well aware that the Voice of Night Vale has never been what one would call a cuddly entity. I had no idea how life was in most of the world before I left its sphere of influence, where it is considered negligent parenting to let your children play outside without self-defense weapons and a bag of standard healing spell ingredients in easy reach. If I had my own children, I would likely raise them away from that environment.

The Voice of Night Vale, however, is the devil we know. It operates by strict rules and remains within its territory if it has any choice in the matter. The death rate in Night Vale is far above national averages, but Night Vale consistently reports average or above average perceived quality of life. Less than Portland, for example, but higher than Tallahassee.

The fact of the matter is that we need the Voice. It is the only entity capable of opposing the Smiling God - to which we must give no quarter, nor attempt to interview - to the point of a stalemate. There is no evidence of anything that could outright defeat the Smiling God. I don’t recommend praying for one. The Voice holds back Station Management, the Hooded Figures, and the City Council from spreading. It contains the Faceless Old Woman Who Lives in Night Vale Homes, and pacifies the Glow Cloud (all hail). It is our only hope against the Good Boy, the Distant Prince, Huntokar, and of course there’s

~~the woman from Italy is pleased when you fear her~~  
~~she strips down the souls of whoever is near her~~  
~~our lives are her canvas; the world is her easel~~  
~~but she’ll let me go now to write more about~~

Cecil Palmer, meanwhile, is the best Host we could hope for even if we had a choice in the matter. He is a fully realized, genuine person, with all the faults and follies to keep him grounded. Less than four hours before writing this, I witnessed him sniffling at the wedding of “a bearer of my Carlos’ genetics” because she looked happy. During the reception, he stared at the crowd on the dance floor before running in and doing moves not generally associated with vertebrates. I remember doing that in high school, but apparently in the outside world “the jitterbug” is an entirely different dance. He led toasts. He hugged everyone who gave him permission first.

I know Ward has suggested coming up with a plan in case of potential hostilities, but I find this unnecessary and unwise. We’ve got a dangerous, but principled, force in a benign and principled man.

Simmons has been making excited sounds about analgesic secretions found in Palmer’s voluntarily provided tissue samples, for what it’s worth. After I explained that the tentacles implanted during the Squid Scout ceremony have regenerative capabilities, that is, I imagine that was startling to someone unfamiliar.

I could go on, but I don’t want to take up too much of your time, and besides, I’ve been invited to on last dinner before Cecil and Carlos go home.

(Cecil asked me, apropos of nothing, what an engagement ring is. He claims no immediate plans, but nevertheless, I promised to go back for a visit should an invitation to a wedding ever come.)

Phil Coulson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the live episode "The Librarian", Carlos says he has never read a book. To make that work as more than a throwaway joke, I headcanon that he is has problems with that type of visual processing - whether from dyslexia or something else - and if anything is more than a few pages long he goes with an audio version. I love that episode #107 makes it canon that he has a bunch of favorite numbers and looking at them calms him when he's overwhelmed.


End file.
